hang
by Summoner Luna
Summary: She's been here too few years to feel this gone.


Squall works late every Thursday.

There has been no fight today. There haven't really been fights, though. Just sadness, brewing. The pulse under her skin that she can't deny, the one that he acknowledges, and then politely ignores.

She wonders, why?

Is it that he just doesn't know what to do? Or is it that he's hoping that, over time, it might go away?

He can have the job he's been bred for his entire life even though he never really wanted it. The job he enjoys but not the one he dreamed about. The one that pays for their home, that pays for their whims. The job he won't admit feels like settling, because he doesn't know how to be anything, if it isn't what the people around him have shaped him for.

And on Thursdays he works late.

.

Rinoa paces and grabs at her hair and hugs herself because there is a desperate longing inside, and she doesn't know how to let it escape.

She's three shots in before she tastes the tequila, and it makes the tips of her fingers warm.

There's magic there that she can't access. Magic he controls. Magic he won't let her use, because it scares him, and he doesn't know how to help her.

She takes another shot.

The room tilts just so, and she pretends she told it to do that. She takes a step and gives herself a chance to catch up. It's control, because she knows why. It's control, because she chose it.

It's control, because he's not here to stop her.

.

She doesn't know where Seifer lives anymore, and the few times she calls, he never answers his phone.

She is disappointed.

Once, if she was sad, he would be there in minutes, and he never asked any questions. She could play coy and skate around it with cheap wine from the local market, and snacks pulled from the refrigerator she "just happened to have," and he would play along. Their ritual, after that one week when they were in love. In the months, the year that followed because they could sense each other's demons, but had enough grace not to bring them up.

She longs for Seifer. For the feeling of mutual use.

And it would hurt Squall in a way that nothing else on the planet could ever hurt.

But Seifer isn't a phone call away anymore, and she knows, she doesn't really want to cut that deep.

.

The clouds are breaking, and Rinoa marvels that it's still only afternoon. Hasn't she been alone long enough?

She needs to talk, because if she doesn't, she doesn't trust herself not to leave. Twice, she starts towards her suitcase. The second time she almost makes it. The third time the impulse strikes, she grabs a book, and goes outside.

.

At sunset, she finally goes back in. She feels she owes it to stay outside while it is light, though to whom, she could not say.

.

She showers until the water runs cold, and she never touches her soap. It feels safe in the water, peaceful. The heat beating against her in a way that matches what she feels inside. She is one, and not this thing with something inside of her, clawing to get out.

.

After her shower, Rinoa feels smaller. She pulls a pair of fleece pants over legs that haven't seen a razor in weeks, and grabs one of Squall's shirts. She resents him right now, but he's been gone too long, and she misses him. She makes a fast dinner, the kind she can't make when he is home, and curls up on the couch with Angelo's head in her lap. The dog feels like her only link to another living soul, and she wants to cry, and wills time forward.

.

Minutes before Squall gets home, Rinoa lights a candle, and stretches carefully onto the couch, book in hand once again. She doesn't know why she has such a need to prove she can exist without him, but she does.

She reads the same paragraph three times before she finally hears his key in the lock, and when he opens the door, she doesn't look up. He steps forward, waits for a second, and leans down to kiss her, interrupting her from words she isn't actually seeing.

"Hey," he says. "How was your day?"

"Fine. I read my book some," she replies, and closes it, smiling at him like reading was all she wanted to do.

He puts down his jacket and heads towards the fridge. Rinoa resents him, for controlling her. For distilling the burning she can never quell into a lie over wanting to read.

But, Rinoa needs him, because in her darkest moments, the times when her despair is at its greatest, she wonders, what would the magic do without him?

* * *

><p><em>Title and summary credit to Matchbox 20. <em>


End file.
